


Hunters & Prey

by Darrilshrugs



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 00:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12618800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darrilshrugs/pseuds/Darrilshrugs
Summary: Hello!I wrote a little thing and I like it. I hope you enjoy.Sibling hunters make their way to a grove in the woods, where their target lies. Are they the hunters still, or will they become prey?





	Hunters & Prey

They could not come to an agreement using nods, looks and hand signals, so they withdrew quietly from the clearing, back into the thick grove of trees, to make a plan. They have been well-schooled; they settle into a crouch, facing one another. Each bends to put their mouth just outside the pointed tip of the other’s ear. This way they can whisper at the absolute minimum volume, and between them, have a full view each other’s back, and the surrounding area. There may still be additional guard patrols this close to their goal.

 

“It’s another trap. It’s too obvious” he says.

 

It’s hard to believe that her brother was being the cautious one. It was usually she who had to stop him from charging in headlong; it fell to her to calm angered friends and authority figures, and occasionally, to flash a blade to get him out of more troublesome situations.

 

Maybe they were as much alike as everyone always says. 

 

She had grown so weary of hearing it while growing into young adulthood, and outwardly, she resisted the comparison with utmost effort. Who had to know that it gave her such security and confidence to be so close to someone? That she never had to feel different, or totally alone, wherever she may be, because he was so like her?

 

This time, she is ready to throw caution to the wind. “I don’t know that it is a trap. I think we may surprise them with how quickly we’ve gotten here.” They had seen their target, in the open, unarmed and unarmored. His sword had been propped against a nearby tree as dozed, his head lolled over, sitting against a stump. “They may not be ready for us.” 

 

Her brother scoffs, quietly, but clearly, in the shell of her peaked ear. "We can't be reckless, or we risk getting caught. We’re up against some of the most dangerous people in the world, sister."

 

“I know that, and I think this time, that we have the advantage. With the number of guards and alarms, and the dense- denseness-.” She couldn’t remember the proper word for a second, and a vision of their father correcting her lapse in vocabulary flitted across her mind and made her pause until she grasped it “. . . The _density_ of the forest, they may have expected us to be carefully picking our way here.” She adds more to her case before he can object. “More likely, they think we’re skirting around the long way, from the south.”

 

She glances down from over his shoulder and into her brother’s face, which shares so many features of her own. She watches his dark eyes lose a little bit of their trained focus and watchfulness. He must be considering her words and going over their approach to the clearing in his head. All their time out in the forest (and maybe some of the elven blood running in their veins), provides them a base level of alertness, even when distracted. She was doing the same, after all - replaying their movements while keeping her general awareness trained on woods around her.

 

They had known their target’s location for more than a day, and had prepared accordingly. On entering this section of the Parchwood, they had immediately picked up on the guards patrolling the most straightforward approach. They had communicated via hand signal and decided against circling around the entire area. It would have taken hours, if not a full day. They had instead moved forward into the patrol area. They avoided detection by remaining absolutely still for more than a half an hour in the thick underbrush. Bugs and who-knows-what-else crawled over them, as the patrol passed mere feet away. They then took to the thick interwoven tree branches of the ancient forest, further eluding the sweeps of guards for another mile.

 

Tripwires, magical traps that would have sent flares skyward, and alarm wards had been thick throughout, but their observational and trap-disarming skills complemented each other well. They had also purchased some additional magical items just for such occasions. They had made excellent time through the remaining miles that brought them within range of their target.

 

She finishes her own internal recounting of their past few hours, and can see he has done the same. He looks her full in the face and nods. He is going to go with her judgement on this one. It means everything to her, having his trust, yet her gut churns at the possibility that her call could lead them foolhardily into a trap.

 

She leans into him, throwing him momentarily off-balance, part of a long-running game of theirs. She presses her mouth close to his ear once more. “We’ll take another quick look, and if nothing looks out of place, we blitz him. If it goes wrong, we start to make our escape to the south, the way they will think we came, but we circle around. We meet right here and wait out their chase. Maybe we even get another chance in the confusion.”

 

He huffs. “If this goes a bit wrong, it’s over.  But I do appreciate the positive outlook.” His mouth quirks up at the edge, as does hers. It’s a well-schooled expression of controlled amusement. They had observed it so often from their mother that they learned to emulate it.

 

They stealthily return to their vantage point of a few minutes prior and see much the same sight as on their first visit. The target is alone, without his sword, and napping. She thinks may even be lightly snoring, but that could just be her imagination. 

 

His white hair makes him look older than he is, and his noble-bearing and rail-thin frame supposedly belies a vicious combatant. She has heard some of the stories behind all that, and the rumors that had reached her ear had only made her eager to someday learn the whole truth of the tale.

 

They are aware that the Lord of Whitestone is legendarily quick of hand, but they well are quite capable themselves. Even if he carries knives in his boots or elsewhere, they should be on him quick enough to render such concealed weapons useless. She knows he is no magic-user.

 

Her brother catches her eye, and nods. He is ready, waiting on her signal. She draws a deep breath, and her own dagger. She tenses her legs to spring forward and sprint across the clearing. She nods and they go for it.

 

They hit the grass of the clearing at a full run. No alarm is sounded, by man, beast or magic spell, and there is no evidence that their target has been disturbed. They close the thirty feet to him in seconds. He only stirs once they have each gripped his shoulders and is unable to resist as they half-lift, half drag him to his feet and back against another tree at the far edge.

 

The man’s blue eyes have sprung open behind his glasses, but any dismay at being rudely awoken and man-handled by two smaller, darkly-cloaked individuals seems to pass quickly as they manhandle him.

 

He lets out a puff of breath as his back connects with the trunk of the tree, but his first words are less of shock and more a pleased, detached observation. "Ah, ambushed by ruffians. I must have been more tired than I thought."

 

Her breath is ragged and her muscles burn, but she can feel the rush of imminent victory pumping adrenaline into her system. “We got you!” Both she and her brother continue to swivel their heads, trying to cover all angles. Her left hand pins the noble’s shoulder back, while her brother’s forearm rests high against the taller human’s chest. Their quarry is over any surprise and might as well have been greeting guests in the great hall of his castle when he addresses them.

 

“I congratulate you on your quiet stalking skills, and commend your bravery at making a quick strike against your prey. However, I am not sure you have been as successful as you may think.” 

 

He slowly raises his left arm; palm turned outward, and lifts his thick eyebrows at her for permission to continue. Receiving no threat, he moves his hand up to his face and uses his index finger to push his glasses back up on his nose. He then brings his hand to rest, palm still out, showing no aggression, above where her brother’s arm holds him, and near to his own throat. He speaks again “For I am not, in this case, Percival de Rolo, Lord of Whitestone.”

 

She cannot help herself. She glances at her brother. She can see the worry on his face, and feel it on her own. Have they been deceived? Is this an impostor? Neither of them has much experience with magical disguises or illusions.

 

Her brother is growing alarmed, and it comes through in his growl. “Then who are you? Tell us!”

 

“I’d be happy to.” The man chuckles at their confusion as he taps the top of his breastbone with the back of his hand. “I’m the bait.” 

 

As his hand continues to tap his chest, his fingers scoop, impossibly quick, into the open collar of his dress shirt, and grip a black pedant that hangs under the cloth.

 

Immediately, and without warning, a massive fist is there, pressed against her back. She can see her brother also crowded forward in her peripheral vision.

 

“Hullo, lovelies!” It’s a gravelly, but happy, growl from above and behind them. As she turns her head a few degrees, she sees a slab of gray muscle and scars that can only be a Goliath.

 

The horrible realization at what is behind them is only made worse by the whoosh of incoming arrows passing well above their heads from off to their right. Two arrows thud into the trunk just above the white-haired human’s head, making him flinch.

 

Her brother releases their quarry and drops his hands to his side, already defeated. 

 

She’s just mad. 

 

“This is some dirty trick!”

 

A familiar voice rings out from the direction of the arrows. “Your enemies will not play fair, sweetheart.”

 

Her brother has taken a seat on the grass, sulking more visibly by the moment. “I believe we didn’t hear mother, but we missed Uncle Grog?” His head drops to his hands.

 

Father pulls her into a one-armed hug and brings her down with him into a crouch to show them both the necklace. “This is an old trinket of your mother’s.” Despite themselves, both the children smile at the father’s obvious and terrible pun. They can tell he’s pleased with himself by his tone. “It’s called the Raven’s Slumber, and it can hold, and then release a willing creature.”

 

“Like me!” Grog barks, and throws his arms wide, waiting for a hug. A lithe, but well-toned arm appears from behind and rests for a moment on his mountainous bicep. Then their mother walks around him and into view. She is dressed in an old set of dark leathers, her dark brown hair pulled back into the familiar braid that hangs now in front of her shoulder. She ducks under Uncle Grog’s arm to join them. He continues to wait for his hug.

 

Lady Vex’ahlia de Rolo gives both her children a short hug and a kiss atop their heads, and then leans over to give a kiss to her husband, who chides her. “A little close with the arrows, Vex.”

 

She gives him another kiss, this one to the tip of his nose. “I didn’t want to aim too near the children.” 

 

He melts a bit, as he always does. “Mm. Makes perfect sense.” _Gross_.

 

Her mother stands, and puts her hands out to her children, join her. Their father also draws himself to his full height. “You did very well, children. The guards had no clue you were there, and you did a wonderful job with the alarms and traps. I’m pleased, and even your Uncle Vax would have been proud of your sneakiness and bold choice to attack first and ask questions later.” Her mother’s smile gets a little sad, as it always does at the mention of their uncle.

 

However, the cloud passes from her mother’s face as Uncle Grog tires of waiting and bellows out “Come here you de Rolos!” and sweeps the four of them into a crushing hug. “You did so good little de Rolo’s! You’re just no match yet for Vox Machina!”

 

Despite her disappointment at not winning this trial, she can’t help but grin at Uncle Grog’s enthusiasm, and sees her brother unable to contain a laugh as well. Their father seems less pleased, but he seems resigned to his huge friend’s affection. 

 

She will have another chance to test herself against her family of legends, and maybe, someday, she will become one herself.

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed writing this, and leaving little false clues as to who the main characters are. Hope you did as well.
> 
> In order to keep any mystery at all, it made the work almost impossible to tag. I'd take any suggestions people have in order to better categorize it, or have it show up properly for people.
> 
> Thanks!


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